by Naima Simone
“I’m sorry,” Nessa whispered, hating those two words. They were ineffective, but at the moment, they were all she had. Because telling this almost stranger I understand how it is to feel empty and full of rage at the same time. I get it didn’t seem appropriate, even if she could force it past her tight throat.
So she left it at the two most helpless words in the human language.
Sydney smiled, and it carried a hint of old sadness.
“Thank you. But I’m telling you all this to say, I know where you are. It’s not easy trying to hold on to someone so determined to push you away. My parents and I were estranged for a lot of years because we were so afraid of being hurt by each other. But even underneath the misunderstandings and the pain and grief, we always had love. And that brought us to one another. That and Rose Bend.”
When Sydney smiled this time, none of the sadness remained. Her face shone with an inner peace that was almost hard to look at—or maybe it was the kernel of envy buried deep inside Nessa that made it difficult.
“I just want to encourage you not to give up on reaching out to her, Nessa. Or just reaching her. It may seem impossible, but it’s not. That bond of family, the security of it, is so worth it. And you’ve chosen the right town to start. This place...” She inhaled a deep breath and surveyed the square, gently cupping her child’s bottom through the carrier. “Not to sound all mystical and woo-woo, but it has magic. It doesn’t come from any kind of spell or enchanted book—I watch a ton of Charmed reruns if you can’t tell.” Sydney grinned. “It comes from the community, the sense of family and safety. It’s why I moved back here to raise her after an almost-ten-year absence and a vow never to return.”
Sydney bowed her head over her daughter’s and pressed a kiss to the dark curls. Lifting her head, she squinted at Nessa, shrugging a shoulder.
“Anyway, enough of my getting in your business,” she said, flashing a wry grin. “That’s my quota for the day. C’mon, let’s see how the gazebo is shaping up.”
Nessa followed Sydney, the exchange whirling in her head. The part of her who was a toughened Bostonian who’d been raised on reality not Hallmark movies curled her lip at the conversation. The other woman knew nothing about her and Ivy’s situation. Or about the messy resentment and pain that were the only things holding them together.
Or about the lies that dangled over their heads like the world’s crappiest piñata—one strike and the untruths would rain down on them.
Or about the secret Nessa’s mother had confessed on her deathbed.
That the man Nessa had believed to be her father all her life wasn’t.
Hallmark didn’t make a movie telling her how to handle being not only orphaned, but also left a liar.
God, Mom. Why couldn’t you have just taken that one to your grave? Why did you have to tell me? I didn’t want to know!
Isaac had entrusted Ivy into her care because he’d believed Nessa was his daughter. But it was a lie. And every day Nessa woke up and kept that secret, she made the choice to continue living in deceit. But what else could she do? Though Isaac Hunt wasn’t truly her biological father, she couldn’t abandon Ivy, whether they were blood or not. Ivy believed they were. Ivy might hate Nessa, but they were the only family they had. And Nessa refused to abandon her. To steal away all that Ivy had left, as Nessa’s parents had done to her.
No, Sydney, as well-meaning as she was, couldn’t be more wrong.
Rose Bend couldn’t fix this.
* * *
“HEY, GUYS.” Sydney stopped a small distance away from Wolf and Ivy, mindful not to startle them. Wolf glanced up and smiled at his sister-in-law. Carefully, he lifted the saw, turned it off and set it down. “Hey, Trevor.”
The teen boy lifted his head from where he bent over a long tool that resembled a shovel. “Hi, Sydney.” Giving her a chin lift that seemed to be a universal thing for males between the ages of thirteen and death, he said, “That Patience you got hiding in there?”
“It is.” Sydney rolled her eyes as Trevor laid down his tool and tugged off his gloves as he headed toward her. “I swear, Trevor, you’re worse than this guy right here.” She cocked her head toward Wolf, who already had his goggles off and was moving around the sawhorses. “She’s asleep,” she whisper-yelled.
But she might as well as have saved that warning because Wolf already had the carrier straps removed from her shoulders and the baby in his large hands.
Well, Nessa didn’t need her ovaries anyway.
Grinning, Sydney stretched her arm out to Ivy. “Hi, I’m Sydney, Wolf’s sister-in-law. You must be Ivy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah?” Ivy said, slipping off her safety glasses and sliding a look at Nessa. “Well, nice to meet you anyway.” She shook the other woman’s hand.
Sydney laughed. “I see you’re busy here, but once I wrestle my baby back, I was headed over to city hall to meet my husband. The twins are there helping set up for the reception after the Santa Run tonight. Want to head over with me?”
“Cool!” Ivy’s face brightened at the mention of the twins. Turning to Wolf, she asked, “Are you okay with me going, Wolf? I can stay if you still need me.”
Handing the infant over to Trevor, Wolf tugged on one of Ivy’s curls. “I got it covered here, Mozart. Go on. You were a great help, though, so anytime you want to come back and lend a hand, I have a pair of gloves with your name on them.”
Ivy didn’t smile, but her dark eyes brightened with his praise. Nodding, she removed her gloves and laid them on the wood they’d been cutting and rounded it to stand by Nessa.
“I’ll walk you two over,” Trevor offered, slipping the carrier straps on. “Be back in about twenty, Wolf,” he called over his shoulder.
“Take your time. Here.” Wolf freed his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a few bills. “Pick us up some lunch from Sunnyside Grille on your way back.”
“Got it.” Trevor tucked the money into his pocket, but before the trio could leave, Nessa spoke for the first time since they’d arrived.
“Ivy,” she called.
The preteen stopped, then slowly turned, a scowl furrowing her eyebrows. Probably assuming Nessa would call a halt to her mission. Which, considering she hadn’t asked permission, maybe she should. Pick your battles. That had become Nessa’s mantra in the last six weeks since Isaac’s death. And while they would have a discussion about her pulling Houdini acts, this wasn’t a skirmish she intended to wage.
“Yeah?”
“Here.” Nessa held out the hot chocolate that she’d bought for her at Mimi’s Café.
The scowl didn’t totally disappear, but it did lessen in intensity as Ivy crossed over and accepted the to-go cup. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“You’re welcome. And listen to Sydney, okay?”
Ivy gave her a sharp nod before wheeling around and hurrying back to Sydney and Trevor. The three of them walked down another path that led in the opposite direction from where she and Sydney had approached the square.
“She’ll be fine.” Wolf’s quiet assurance from behind her set her nerves tap-dancing, but for an entirely different reason.
Though she’d just met Sydney the night before, she trusted the other woman to watch over Ivy—mainly because Wolf trusted her. No, her skin tingled like it’d been kissed by sandpaper because wintergreen wrapped around her. Her belly tumbled because that voice invited her to cuddle against that wide chest at her back and sink her teeth into its dense muscle—both were cardinal sins in her book.
Oh God. She shivered, the tremble vibrating through her belly, culminating in her pulsing, suddenly damp feminine flesh.
Sex.
That was the problem. It’d been months since she’d had sex. Jeremy might have complained about her emotional competence, but he’d had no grievances about their love life. Where Nessa lacked
in sharing her feelings, she more than made up for with her generosity in the bedroom. So much so that toward the end, he’d even accused her of using sex to avoid being close to him, talking to him. And that was utter bullshit. She was a woman who enjoyed sex. Nothing more to the story. Nothing to be ashamed of or apologize for.
But the deprivation explained her reaction to Wolf. Had to. Because the alternative—that there was something special about him, something different from the other men in her life—just didn’t bear dwelling on.
Frankly, the thought scared the hell out of her.
Now that she understood the problem, though, she could handle the solution. Literally. The only tricky part was finding private, kid-free time. Relief trickled through her, and she closed her eyes, buying herself a few extra moments by sipping from her coffee.
Yeah, she would be finding that kid-free time soon.
“Santa Run?” she asked, pouring a healthy amount of skepticism into the question. Only then did she find it safe to turn around and face him.
But she might’ve been a bit premature when he smirked, cocking a dark eyebrow. “Town tradition.”
“Do I want to know the details?” she asked. “Because I have to tell you, anything with run in the title usually has me avoiding it like Justin Bieber and toilets.”
He laughed. “One time. The man uses a bucket one time, and he can never live it down.” At her snort, he shook his head. “I think ‘run’ is pretty much a misnomer. The distance is from the top of Main past The Glen. Not a big distance. People dress up as Santa Claus, partner up with someone and they walk, skip, hop, whatever it takes to get to the finish line. It’s a fundraiser, with everyone gathering at city hall afterward for food. Boston has them, right?”
She shrugged. “Probably. We have so many things during the holidays, but I wouldn’t know. I’m usually working and don’t get into all that.”
“Yeah?” A beat of silence passed between them where his green gaze roamed her face, and she ordered herself not to duck her head and avoid it. “That’s a shame. Well, you and Ivy should join in. I think she would really enjoy it. And you might surprise yourself and have fun, too.”
Don’t pity me. I don’t need or want it. The hot rebuke burned her tongue, but she doused it, afraid of what he would infer from it if she let that loose. And she knew he would infer.
“Pass.” She raised her cup for another sip. “Besides, if Ivy and I partnered up for anything one of us might pull a Lord of the Flies and not come back alive.”
Hell, she was only half joking.
“I didn’t want to mention it, but I was contemplating diving in front of you and sacrificing my body to protect you from that death glare.”
She squinted at him. “The fact that my sister and I would rather hide each other’s bodies in the nearest snowbank than spend time with each other amuses you?”
“No.” Pause. “Maybe.” When she shot him a narrowed look, he held up his hands, shoulders hunched. “Woman, I have six brothers and sisters. Six. We’ve all wanted to off each other at one time or another.” He sighed softly and rubbed a hand down his beard. For a moment, he glanced to the side, and she almost blurted out a demand to know what he was thinking. But thank God she squelched that urge. “All teasing aside, I get there’s more between you and Ivy. She...she mentioned that she used to help her father with his carpentry. I’m guessing that’s because he’s not here anymore. Your father’s dead, isn’t he?”
He’s not my father. The confession scrabbled up the back of her throat but found no purchase. Her secret. Her burden. Ivy had already lost both her parents. And as much as Ivy didn’t want Nessa, she couldn’t take away her sister, too.
And selfishly, Nessa couldn’t admit aloud that she was so fucking alone and needed Ivy, the only family she had left. Even if she wasn’t blood.
So she nodded, giving Wolf the only answer she could.
“What happened?” Wolf murmured, shifting closer to her.
“Pancreatic cancer,” she said. “He died six weeks ago and left me as her guardian.”
Why?
That question still rang in her head all these weeks later. He hadn’t even thought enough of Nessa to keep in any kind of meaningful contact for sixteen years. So why had she been his choice to raise his daughter? Unless she received a celestial visitation, she would never know. And that bothered her like a pebble stuck in her shoe.
“He must’ve trusted you to leave his daughter in your care,” Wolf said softly. Gently. Too gently, as if he suspected she might be fragile when it came to Isaac Hunt. “Trusted and believed in you.”
She barely contained her snort of disbelief. More like he probably didn’t have anyone else. Because anyone else other than his estranged daughter-who-wasn’t-his-daughter would’ve been a better candidate than her.
“Whatever his reasons were, he took them to the grave with him.”
Jesus, that sounded callous. Cold. No wonder they called her Nurse Freeze. If she could snatch the words back out of the air, she’d have grabby hands right now. Not because they weren’t true. No, she’d rescind them so Wolf wasn’t looking at her with that awful sympathy in his emerald gaze.
“What did he do to hurt you so badly, Nessa?” He cocked his head and shifted closer. “Yesterday in the kitchen, you obviously didn’t know he’d brought Ivy and her mother here—”
“What’re you working on?” she interrupted, crossing over to the wood beam propped up on the sawhorses.
“Nessa—” He grasped her elbow, but she felt that grip in the sudden beading of her nipples, the dipping of her belly, the dampening of her sex. The breathlessness of her lungs.
The yearning in her chest.
Panic clawed at her.
“You’re doing the touching thing again,” she said, fighting dirty, and when his hold disappeared as if her skin seared him, guilt speared her right through the rib cage. She’d weaponized his sense of honor, but she didn’t apologize. Didn’t acknowledge her wrongdoing.
Desperation did that to a person.
“Well played,” he murmured, stepping next to her, but leaving a careful distance between them. “But next time, if you want me to mind my own business, just say so. I told you last night, all you had to do was let me know if you needed space. I’d never put my hands on a woman if she didn’t want them there, and I think you know that. So there’s no need to use that against me. Understood?” he asked, and threading through his voice was a vein of steel that she hadn’t heard until now.
“Yes.” The guilt thickened. And underneath it... Jesus, what did it say about her that underneath a tiny thrill of excitement sparked inside her like flint struck against stone?
Layers.
There were layers to Wolf Dennison. And part of her wanted to peel back the laid-back, wreath-toting carpenter to explore the person who existed beneath. The person who’d issued that warning with the expectation of being obeyed.
And the other part of her—the wiser part—just desired to leave him alone and back off slowly, palms up, with no sudden movement.
Sighing, she looked away from him, an apology pressing against her throat, but she couldn’t utter it. Because then she would have to explain why she’d thrown that grenade between them. And to tell him that she’d panicked at his touch—at her reaction to his touch—wasn’t even an option. Inhaling, she tipped her chin toward the beginnings of the structure behind them.
“Can you tell me about what you’re working on?” she asked, offering what she could. What she was capable of.
Maybe what they said about her at work was true. What Jeremy had lobbed at her as he left was true. Was this why people walked away from her?
Why Ivy couldn’t trust her?
Couldn’t...love her?
Wolf stared at her, his eyes shards of jade, but then he sharply nodded, and a sliver of relief sl
id between her ribs.
“Better if I show you.”
He turned and retrieved a roll from a bag next to a big toolbox. Unfurling it, he pinned the sides with the saw and a wrench. She glanced down at the large blueprint and a detailed drawing of a gazebo with a domed roof. Beautiful latticework decorated the sides, shallow steps bordered the main structure and a dainty cupola crested the top. Though a technical design, the building’s beauty shone through.
“Did you draw this?” She trailed a finger over the trellis at the front of the gazebo.
He nodded. “About twenty years ago, another gazebo stood here. It was one of the town’s original structures. But we had a hurricane come through, and it was one of the casualties. There’s been talk over the years about rebuilding it, but nothing’s ever happened. When Cole approached me about doing the job for this year’s festival, I said yes.”
“That’s a job.” She peered behind her at the foundation that had already been laid and the holes that Trevor had been in the middle of digging when she and Sydney had approached. “When is it supposed to be done?”
“By Christmas Eve.”
“Christmas Eve,” she repeated, peering up into his face. “As in twenty-two days.”
“The same.”
“Not that I’m doubting your skills, but—” she waved a hand over the post and toward the wood foundation “—is that possible?”
“Don’t know,” he said, peering down at the blueprint, and surprise whipped through her at his honesty. When she shot him a look over her shoulder, he shrugged. “I don’t. But that doesn’t matter. What does is that I’ll make it possible.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and she shot a glance up at him. His expression didn’t change, yet...it did. The skin over his cheekbones tautened and his full, sensual mouth firmed just the slightest bit. And his eyes. Dark as the trees that surrounded the square.
